Wayward Secrets, page 17
The closet directly across from the door was empty, as were the dresser, desk, and nightstand drawers. Not a single keepsake left from his childhood.
“He probably took everything of his to his cottage,” I told Meeka as though she knew what I’d been thinking. Although, with the attitude Reed had adopted about his mother over the past few months, he probably took everything just so she couldn’t have anything of him. And then made a bonfire with it all.
The walls were pristine. Maybe they’d been painted recently, or maybe they’d never held a favorite rock band poster or picture of any kind. Nothing in this room gave any clues as to who had grown up in it. Really, I only assumed it had been Reed’s.
Meeka crawled out from beneath the bed looking as confused as she had in the kitchen.
“Not even a dust bunny, hey?”
She gave a muffled ruff in reply.
I pushed open the only other door on this floor and was surprised to find a sort of craft room. This was where Flavia made her candles. Plain, one-inch-thick plywood boards on sawhorses set in an L formation filled all of one wall and half of another. In the corner of the half-filled wall was a simple shelving unit made of more plywood boards and construction blocks. Each shelf was loaded with candles in various stages of completion. If only Flavia would have turned to this skill for good reasons rather than negative magic. As much as it pained me to admit, her candles were beautiful. Something I’d be happy to display around Pine Time. Except I was pretty sure she infused each one with wicked intentions.
I scrutinized this room as thoroughly as the others, checking every container for firebomb supplies. I found what looked at first to be a purple powder in one small box, but it turned out to be fine pieces of purple wax shavings. She must have used them as a colorant for her candles.
Finding nothing incriminating, we went up to the third floor. The stairway led directly into an attic space Flavia had converted into her bedroom. My jaw dropped. This room was the polar opposite of the rest of the house and didn’t come close to representing the Flavia I knew. Where everything on the main floor was hard and straight, this was all soft and frilly. Maybe this was why she didn’t want me to come upstairs. Seeing this was like taking a peek into the deepest part of her psyche.
The bed was piled with pillows. The comforter covering the full-size bed was so soft and fluffy, it looked like I’d disappear into it if I lay down. A lamp dripping with teardrop-shaped crystals sat on a round bedside table that was draped with a flowery pastel chintz tablecloth. The room smelled like roses and vanilla. Honestly, if I were a girly girl, I’d love this room. Rosalyn would adore it.
The illusion was ruined when I opened the closet door to find two dozen of the drab-gray tent-like dresses Flavia insisted on wearing. Something she started nearly twenty-two years ago when her pregnancy with Yasmine started to show. A half-dozen pairs of matronly black shoes were lined up on the floor. The precise distance between hangers and each pair of shoes reflected the sterile surroundings of the first two floors.
The other realm feeling returned when what I assumed to be another closet turned out to be a tiny but beautifully girly bathroom. A small clawfoot tub sat across from the door. An antique French provincial dresser had been painted white and converted into a sink vanity. Fluffy white towels lined a shelf on the wall near the tub. A collection of pink candles and bath salts sat on a small glass-topped table next to the tub.
Back inside the bedroom, I opened a dresser drawer to find silky nightgowns in a rainbow of pastel shades. I hesitated before opening the top drawer, figuring it would contain her underthings. If I wasn’t searching for evidence, I would have left it closed, but I hadn’t found anything yet. Sure enough, Flavia preferred lacey undergarments in black, white, and hot pink.
“I so want to ask Reed if he knows about this,” I told Meeka. “But no kid needs to know this much about their own mother.”
I would have been fine never seeing any of this. Like with the meals-for-one in her freezer, this room, though beautiful, also made me sad. The bed could sleep two but not comfortably. As far as I knew, no one ever visited her, so the pretty nightgowns and lingerie were only for her. Not that there was anything wrong with her treating herself well, but her life didn’t have to turn out the way it did. It could have been so different.
“The Secret World of Flavia Reed,” I murmured to Meeka. “Shockingly, based on her private domain here, Flavia and Rosalyn have a lot in common.”
What did that mean? If my sister and Flavia shared this . . . I silenced that thought before it went any further. We all had a dark side. I was sure of that. But there was a difference between having a personality with layers and doing the kinds of things Flavia had done.
Since the search of her bedroom revealed nothing of importance to the crimes she’d committed, that meant there was only one place left to look. As I came back down the stairs, I found Flavia in the same position, sitting primly on her sofa, her hands folded in her lap.
“I assume you have invaded every room.” She stared dead ahead and wouldn’t so much as peek at me.
“I did.”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“I did not.”
A smile slithered across her lips. “Just like I told you.”
There was one place left for me to check. I knew Flavia had an underground altar room. Reed told me about it when we were looking for evidence of her using poisonous plants and candle magic against Reeva. He hadn’t told me where it was exactly, but I felt the floor give just a little on my way to the staircase. Since Flavia never let anyone but her son go up to the second floor, hiding a trapdoor at the base of the stairs was the perfect place.
I stepped off the bottom stair onto a small throw rug and bounced on the balls of my feet where I’d felt the give. “The door to your altar room is right here, I believe.”
Her head spun to look at me and she hissed, “A witch’s altar room is a sacred place.”
“I understand that. Tell me, if I were to go down there, would I find”—I ticked the items off on my fingers—“cardstock, cotton balls, petroleum jelly, acetone, twine, glycerin, and potassium permanganate?”
She pursed her lips but didn’t answer. She also never told me I couldn’t look.
Meeka watched from above as I descended a simple wooden ladder into the space that, unlike her bedroom, was about what I expected. A single dim lightbulb provided the only light and revealed an old square black table with a pedestal base in the middle of the earthen-wall altar room. A circle was carved into the top. Sigils, both carved and drawn, covered the four wooden pillars, one in each corner of the small room, that supported the floor beams of the cottage above. I only recognized one of the symbols. It was new and stood for Flavia Long Reed. Reed had told me it was her new signature.
A shelf along one wall held her collection of altar tools and candles. On the wall opposite it, another shelf held all the firebomb supplies I’d been looking for. Like a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae, a vial of ketamine and syringes were there as well. I took a couple of pictures of the space, gathered everything into evidence bags I’d been carrying with me, put the smaller bags into a larger paper sack, and climbed back out of the hidden room.
Jagger took the sack from me and stood at attention next to a now eerily calm Flavia. She hadn’t counted on me knowing about her altar room. That’s what she got for underestimating me.
I pulled a pair of zip cuffs out of a cargo pocket. As I placed them around her wrists, I stated with less satisfaction than I’d expected, “Flavia Reed, I’m placing you under arrest for arson. You are charged with endangering Singer York, a minor, by enticing him to distribute your firebomb devices and set them off. You are charged with seven counts of kidnapping and illegally administering the controlled substance ketamine to Tripper Bennett, Rosalyn O’Shea, Morgan Barlow, Briar Barlow, Gabe Grace, Jola Crain, and Lily Grace Crain. I’m also pressing charges for the detention of K-9 Officer Meeka. I’m charging you with the attempted first-degree homicide of Rae Crain Grace. She is currently being treated for injuries sustained from a device you installed, and if she does not survive, the charge will be changed to first-degree homicide.”
Did I get it all? I could always add more charges later if necessary.
The three of us, and Meeka, emerged from the cottage to find all of Flavia’s neighbors gathered on the street. No one said a word, and the feeling was more somber than celebratory. Understandable. We had her in custody, but everyone knew how slippery Flavia was. Memories of Donovan’s escape flashed in my mind. I finally had everything I needed to lock her up. Now, I needed to figure out how to ensure she stayed where I put her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Flavia didn’t say a word as Jagger drove us back to the station. I contacted Reed via walkie-talkie along the way and told him we’d be there in a few minutes. The only time Flavia showed any emotion was a wince when we walked into the building and she realized her son wasn’t there.
“Martin just left out the front door,” Brady announced. He pointed toward the Fairy Path like I might let her run out there and flag him down.
While I took Flavia’s mugshot and fingerprinted her, Jagger stood an arm’s length away. He seemed to be both ensuring she didn’t give me any problems and observing the process. He stayed at my side until I locked the door of her holding cell.
“Go on home,” I urged him. “Get some sleep, take a shower, do whatever you need to do. I’ll be busy with paperwork for a few hours.”
“You’re sure? You must want to get home to Tripp and Rosalyn.”
I wanted nothing more. “I do, but I need to take care of all this first.” When he didn’t make a move to leave, I added, “Look, I know you’re superhuman and can survive off of twenty minutes of sleep every three days—”
“That’s a gross exaggeration.” He grinned at me. “I need a couple hours a day like anyone.”
“You literally mean two or three, don’t you?”
He replied with a shrug.
“Go get that couple and come back.”
He checked the clock over the front door. “It’s eleven o’clock—”
“In the morning?” I glanced out the window and registered that it wasn’t dark outside.
“I called you at four thirty this morning. Everything happened fast after that.”
“Wow,” I breathed, shocked to learn it wasn’t dinnertime at least.
“I’ll be back around one thirty,” Jagger promised.
While I worked on the paperwork, Meeka curled up on her cushion in my office and snored. Brady never stopped talking to Flavia. He told her about how he delivered the cards just as she had instructed and all I had accused him of. He asked if she had really done these terrible things to people he knew and cared about. He demanded to know how she could have used him this way.
I could have asked him to keep quiet, but he was bothering her a lot more than me. Instead, I stood in the doorway of my office and said, “I suggest you move to the far end of your cot, Brady. She can reach through those bars, you know.” Then I closed my door but left it open a crack in case she really did attack him.
I cataloged everything I’d collected from Flavia’s altar room and placed it in the evidence locker, then reviewed the reports Reed had written up. I couldn’t find a single correction. So different from how I had to rewrite practically every line of his first few reports. He learned fast and was determined to do his job well and thoroughly.
By the time Jagger showed up again at the stroke of one thirty, I’d finished everything and told him I was going home.
“Good. Reed’s standing out on the Fairy Path. He wants to talk to you.”
“All right. Call me if you need anything.”
“I’ll call Reed. You look ready to drop. You sure you’ll make it home okay?”
“It’s a five-minute drive.”
He stood there, arms crossed, and blinked at me.
“I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Make sure our inmates get something to eat. Call The Inn and talk to Laurel. She knows what to send over. She’ll probably have Emery deliver it.”
“Cool. Haven’t seen him in a while. Have a restful night, Sheriff.”
“That’s my plan. There’s a cot, blanket, and pillow in the closet. You can set it up in my office if you want to catch a little more sleep.”
He blinked again.
“But you probably won’t,” I concluded and chuckled.
Meeka and I left through the front door and found Reed hovering on the Fairy Path right where it split in three directions—to the commons, to Unity, or to the schools and library.
He tipped his head toward the station. “She in there?”
“Thought you didn’t want anything more to do with her.”
He sighed and kicked at a pinecone on the path. “I just want to know what to expect.”
“I have arrested Flavia, yes. I found all the items for making the firebombs along with empty syringes and a vial of ketamine in her altar room.”
His eyes went wide at that. Surely shocked that I had dared to go down into that room, not that I found everything.
“We have what we need,” I concluded. “Great job on the reports, by the way.”
He reacted with a humble, downward glance. “What are you going to do now?”
“You mean will I call Evan Atkins to come take her away?” I looked to the treetops. Was I hoping to find the answer there? “I don’t know yet. I’ll think about this tonight and try to have an answer tomorrow.”
He nodded but didn’t react otherwise. “Anything else you need me to do?”
“I assume you’ll be seeing Rozzie later?”
His feelings for my sister were clear to everyone, so I was glad he didn’t blush this time. “I plan to bring her over to my cottage and make dinner.” At my surprise, a slight smile curved his mouth. “Aunt Reeva taught me a few simple recipes.”
“Jagger says he’ll stay at the station again tonight.”
Reed shook his head in amazement. “The guy’s a freak with how little sleep he needs.”
“Must be his bodyguard training. He says he’ll call you with any problems. Hopefully, there won’t be any. Oh, get a formal statement from Rosalyn at some point. I’ll get one from Tripp, Morgan, and Briar. Have we heard anything about Rae yet?”
“Nothing. Reeva called the station while you were arresting her sister. It’s not looking good, but Rae’s hanging in there.”
“We’ll get statements from Gabe, Jola, and Lily Grace when they get back. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes for them to write down what happened.”
“Okay.” He kicked at the ground again. “You really don’t know what you’re going to do about—”
“I really don’t. I need to consult with Tripp and River.”
“Your trusted advisors.”
“Normally, I include you in that group, but not this time.”
He paused before asking, “Tomorrow?”
I understood he wanted to be done with everything Flavia related. I did too. This was a huge decision, though, and I had to get it right.
“Hopefully,” I responded. “Right now, I want to get home and not let Tripp out of my sight. Or Rosalyn until you come take her away. River surely feels the same way about Morgan and Briar, so I’ll talk with him in the morning.”
“Tell Rosalyn I’ll be there at six.” He gestured toward the commons. “For now, I’ll go see how things are going with the tourists.”
I’d almost forgotten about the tourists. The village was full of folks, and none of them had any clue what had been going on within the supposedly safe perimeter of our village. With any luck, it would stay that way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I pulled into the driveway and saw Rosalyn’s little SUV but not Tripp’s big red truck, my heart raced with panic. Where did he go? Did someone trick him again? Then I remembered it was still parked in the east side lot. I’d need someone to go with me to get it and bring it home, so it could be here where it belonged.
I let Meeka out of her cage and expected her to either race ahead of me to the house or make a lap around the yard and patrol the perimeter. Instead, she stayed at my side as she had since we left the cabins. Was that simply because we’d been separated for a day? Was she on alert for more danger? What might have happened to the seven hostages if Tripp hadn’t broken that window so Meeka could escape? These thoughts and darker ones filled my head as I stood frozen in place by the tailgate.
Meeka headbutted my leg to get my attention and looked up, tail wagging.
“You’re right. Let’s go find Tripp.”
Inside, Arden was in the kitchen preparing a ham and cheese sandwich. A glass of milk and a plate with apple slices and cookies were waiting on a tray.
“You’re still here,” I commented.
“You still need me.” Her smile warmed me as much as a hug would have. “This is for Tripp. Would you like some lunch?”
Had I eaten today? Nothing but the coffee she’d given me as I left at 4:30 and more at the station. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not. Sit and wait. You can bring it upstairs and eat with him.” She hesitated before asking, “You got her?”
It was like the entire village was holding its breath. Flavia had somehow damaged everyone here over the years. Either via direct attack or by simply bringing down good vibes. I’d seen her walk into an otherwise happy gathering at Grapes, Grains, and Grub, and within seconds the conversation would stop. Diners’ eyes would be only on the food in front of them and the people at their table. Her always sour expression and creepy, puritanical appearance were enough to make tourists stop and stare. She didn’t come out in public often, but there had been a few times when I’d been patrolling the commons and someone would ask me if she was playing a role, hopeful that there would be a performance they could attend. Then Sister Agnes would inevitably ride past on her bike, her habit billowing around her, and they’d realize it’s just Whispering Pines.
